


Last Christmas

by Glitchy Charlizard (CharlieMistry)



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cigarettes, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Excessive Drinking, Family, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2828234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieMistry/pseuds/Glitchy%20Charlizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Sycamore is faced with the challenge of coping with his first Christmas without Lysandre (after the events of X/Y).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> So um, I can't remember exactly why this fic happened but I suspect it had something to do with tumblr. And I'm pretty sure therothwoman was pretty strongly involved!
> 
> I'll include some "outtakes" in the notes at the end. Until then, enjoy some Christmas not actually spirit.

As Augustine Sycamore left the labs on Christmas eve, he smiled jovially at everyone, kissing them all on the cheeks and wishing them all a "Merry Whatever it is you celebrate!", as he would've done _before_. Everyone returned the merriments but they also gave him concerned sympathetic smiles. 

Sina and Dexio hugged him and begged him to look after himself. He laughed them off then put on his coat and scarf before promptly leaving, loudly laughing about all the parties he planned to go to over the holiday.

In opposition to his laughing and smiling, he walked through the snowy streets of Lumiose City with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, as if he were trying to disappear into his coat. Usually, he'd be hypnotised by the perfect beauty of the snow... but now it was merely an absense of colour, something he was all too familiar with in his own life. He sighed and watched his breath in the cold air. It dissipated and he carried on walking.

He passed a once-fashionable townhouse. The plants were all overgrown and there was no sign of life within the house. But Augustine knew why. There was no life within the house, nor the man who owned it (and still owned him). 

He left but returned shortly, after having purchased a large bunch of flowers. Mostly red roses, proud and regal, but also some violets, smaller and slightly sad. He laid them down by the proud red front door, scooping up a dead bouquet that lay beside it.   
"Je't'aime," he whispered. "Joyeux Nòel, Lysandre." 

After crouching at the door for a short while, he braced a hand against the doorway and struggled to get up. His body ached. Once standing and sufficiently free of head rush, he walked back through the small front garden until he found a small compost heap, where he placed the old bouquet.  
Then he put his hands back in his pockets and continued his walk home. He was certain that the snow was heavier now.

\- - 

When he reached his apartment, it was deathly silent. All of his own Pokémon were safe in their containers. He loved them too much to let them see him the way he felt right now. 

But there was one Pokémon in the apartment that he couldn't contain, even if he'd really wanted to. A fiercely noble Pyroar emerged from Augustine’s room and regarded him with a look that all but said "Oh, it's only you". Augustine was tempted to agree with this sentiment. 

He scratched the proud beast behind the ear until he started quietly purring. 

"Joyeux Nòel," Augustine repeated to the Pyroar as he had greeted their shared master.

\- -

This was Augustine’s first Christmas alone since... 

As he thought on it, it was his first Christmas alone ever. Even before he spent Christmases with his lover, he'd spend them with his family. They had invited him to spend Christmas with them this year, but like his Pokémon, he couldn't bare to show them how distraught he was. 

He told them that he was spending Christmas with some close friends... which wasn't a _complete_ lie, but it was a pretty excessive stretch of the truth. The "friends" staying with him, other than Lysandre’s Pyroar, were wine and cigarettes. And his dear friend Diantha had promised to check in on him once she'd finished recording a live charity drive television special. 

Augustine felt that he needed this time to himself, to give himself a proper chance to grieve. Or at least wallow in self-pity instead of dealing with things properly.

\- - 

He knew he was supposed to eat. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Lysandre's concurred. With a defeated sigh, he went into the kitchen with Pyroar following behind. He picked up a piece of bread, held it in front of the beast and called out "flamethrower". The feline practically rolled his eyes but carried out orders then did so again when Augustine repeated the action with a cigarette.

The reluctant roommates sighed and growled as they wished Lysandre was there instead.

Augustine nibbled at his burnt toast and inhaled from his mostly incinerated cigarette.

"Is it too early to open the Christmas wine?" he asked.

The Pyroar left the room like a teenage stepchild who had had enough of this nonsense.

"Then I shall open the Christmas wine," he sighed.

\- - 

Lysandre used to prepare the most exquisite mulled wine. Augustine had never learnt the secret behind it, so he was stuck with plain red wine. He did not really mind.

Having finished his toast and given up on his cigarette, he took the bottle of wine and a glass out into the living room. In the living room, he had put up a Christmas tree but that was the extent of the year's decorating. He balanced some pokéballs on the branches and pretended they were baubles.

He sat on the couch and poured his first glass of wine. He sniffed and sipped at it, trying to prove to himself that he was drinking to enjoy the wine. But as he thought about all that was around him, he gave up on deluding himself and drained the glass, hardly even letting the flavours be known to him. It tasted like wine and it was going to get him peacefully drunk.

Lysandre's Pyroar lay infront of the empty fireplace, looking at him coldly. 

\- - 

As the evening progressed, he recieved a call on his holocaster from his family, for which he had to try not to appear drunk or depressed, which proved difficult considering how very drunk and depressed he was. In the end, he had to tell them that he had to go because Pyroar wanted his attention. Hearing this, Pyroar gave him a look of "back off, peasant!" then ran out the room. Augustine turned off the holocaster and tried to pour himself another glass of wine. The bottle was empty. Like an alcoholic hourglass telling him it was time to go to bed.

\- - 

Stripped to his boxers, Augustine climbed into bed. His mind was racing with millions of thoughts of varied importance. Silly thoughts like "Did I put the cat out? Oh yeah, Pyroar does whatever he bloody wants", "What would happen if i was visited by the Spirits of Christmas?" which led to the even sillier "Is wine one of the Spirits of Christmas? Wait, is wine even a spirit?"

Silly as it may have been, he still had to get out of bed and look it up online. No, wine was not a spirit. Accepting this, he turned the laptop off then stumbled back to bed. The thoughts regarding the Spirits of Christmas, namely Christmas past, came back with a vengeance.  
The last few Christmases had been particularly memorable and right now, they assaulted his mind.

\- -

Three Christmases ago, Augustine had brought Lysandre to meet his family. That Christmas had been so warm and full of joy that it was hard to tell if the memory was real or if it was from the front of a Christmas card. 

Mr and Mrs Sycamore were such a jolly loving couple who were able to make anyone feel welcome but they made an extra effort with Lysandre, knowing how important he was to their Augustine. He was brought into the family like one of their own, as if four children of their own weren't quite enough. 

Augustine’s brother made a few jokes about his baby brother being with a man but they were all generally quite silly and none of the words intended to hurt. His younger sister kept blushing and trying to make eyes at Lysandre, his chiselled Spartan handsomeness apparently effecting her in very much the same way it effected Augustine. 

At Christmas dinner, there was plenty of food and merriment to go around. Mrs Sycamore apologised to Lysandre that it probably couldn't compare to his cooking, to which he felt an enormous rush of affection for her. The bird on the table was so impressive that it was joked that it was actually a Lugia. Augustine’s older sister didn't find this funny and scolded anyone who mentioned it. For this, Lysandre decided that she was his favourite of the Sycamore children (aside from his beloved Augustine, obviously).

At the end of the day, when it was agreed that it was too late to get a taxi home, Mrs Sycamore "apologised" that Augustine and Lysandre would have to share a bed. Mr Sycamore, in "consolation", gave his son a string of condoms. Lysandre was touched by their unquestioning acceptance.

\- 

The next year was... well, considerably less magical. Lysandre felt that it was his turn to introduce his partner to his family. Unlike Augustine’s parents, Lysandre’s parents didn't even seem to have enough love for the one son they had, let alone anyone else. As they opened presents, Madame de Fleur drank sherry and passed bitter judgements over everyone and everything apart from the Espeon sat on her lap. Augustine was convinced Monsieur de Fleur was a mute.

Christmas dinner at Chateu de Fleur was equally stark and unwelcoming. Augustine tried pushing his chair nearer Lysandre's so that he could hold his hand but Monsieur de Fleur started shouting. Lysandre spoke back to him and Augustine was convinced that the older "gentleman" was going to whip out a sword.

"What did you say it was your friend does?" Madame de Fleur asked Lysandre patronisingly.

"Nom de Arceus... How many times must I explain this?!?!" he replied angrily. "Augustine is not just my _friend_ , he is my _partner_. If you want to ask him a question, ask _him_! We are equals in an adult relationship! What don't you understand about that?"

"But... he's a _man_..." Monsieur le Fleur growled. "Or so you seem to insist. I honestly don't see it."

Augustine was starting to feel like a freakshow curiosity and wanted to go home.

"Being a..." Madame de Fleur carried on, her nose wrinkled in disapproval. "Is that what's fashionable in Lumiose right now? Perhaps you should come back home for a while."

"Being a what, Maman? I _dare you_ to finish that sentance!"

"A faggot, Lysandre!" Monsieur de Fleur shouted. 

Augustine excused himself to the bathroom to have a panic attack. It had been years since he'd last had an experience like that, his own body and mind threatening to suffocate him. Lysandre soon dashed out to find him and apologised profusely, caressing his face and hair.

At the end of the eventful evening, Monsieur le Fleur ordered one of the maids to escort Augustine to one of the guest bedrooms. He also issued a secret order that she try to seduce the 'clearly confused' man, in order to soil him for Lysandre. Such attempts failed and Augustine cried on the distastefully extravagant bed.

After an hour or so, Lysandre dashed from his own room and quietly knocked at each guest bedroom door. Having found Augustine, they kissed and made love, not giving a damn about how loud they were. Needless to say, they were not invited back next year.

-

The next year, though they were invited back to the Sycamores, Augustine and Lysandre just wanted each other's company. Lysandre still felt guilty for the previous Christmas, so he was determined to make up for it. He woke him up with breakfast in bed and a particularly attentive blowjob.

The rest of the day, Augustine was showered with love and presents. Lysandre had even managed to surpass himself when cooking their Christmas dinner. After dinner, their clothes came back off and they made love under the tree. 

\- 

Augustine fell asleep, dreaming about love of Christmas past.

\- - 

Waking up, Augustine was blessed with the thought trail of "What day is this? Why sir! Tis Christmas Day!" which was promptly replaced by "WHY DID I DRINK AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF WINE IN A SINGLE EVENING?!?! FUCKING HELL!"

Begrudgingly, he got up and stumbled to the bathroom. Once finished in there, he dragged himself to the kitchen for reasons he couldn't quite remember. Then, deciding that the only cure for his hangover was a fairly traditional one of... His head hurt too much for him to remember the expression right away.   
"Hair of the Houndour," he eventually laughed to himself. He made sure not to look at Pyroar because he knew the creature would be staring at him in distaste. He picked up a new bottle of red from the wine rack and took it with him into the living room.

He went to lie on the couch, only to be roared at by it's current occupant. It was too early in the morning ('Or afternoon... How the devil did that happen?' Augustine thought, noticing the clock on the wall) to wrestle with angry firebreathing lions. So he left Pyroar to usurp the throne and simply sat on the carpeted floor with his bottle of wine, wondering where exactly he went wrong with his life. He was sure if Pyroar could talk, he would explain in detail with great relish and cruelty. 

Regardless, he scratched him behind the ear anyway. The creature seemed taken aback for a moment. After a few seconds of staring at him, the Pyroar licked his hand with something close to affection. As if saying "Fine, it looks like we're stuck together, so I suppose I'll play nice. As it's Christmas".

\- -

Augustine spent the day drinking wine and occasionally opening a present. By evening, Pyroar took pity on him and leapt from the couch and nuzzled up to him. Fairly inebriated, the professor forgot that this wasn't just a cute kitty, but a powerful beast capable of breathing fire. But he tickled it anyway.

He didn't notice that the doorbell was ringing until Pyroar dashed off to roar at it. Struggling with his feet and still wearing only his boxers, he eventually wobbled over to investigate. Somehow managing to open the door, he was surprised to feel cold. Then eventually noticed an angel in the doorway.

"Am I dead? Are you taking me to be with Lysandre?" he asked, slurring a lot. "Or are you my guardian angel?"

The angel grabbed him by the arm, pulled him inside, shut the door and dragged him through to the kitchen.

"Sit," the angel ordered. 

He sat shakily on a stool at the breakfast counter.

"Augustine, darling, I know it's tough... More than that. But do you think Lysandre would want to see you like this?"

"So you do know Lysandre?!?!"

The angel removed the hood they were wearing. It was Diantha. "Augustine, he was my cousin and one of my dearest friends. He meant so much to me, that words can't even begin to describe how painful it's been. I loved him dearly, as I love you, mon ami. Don't make me go through the hell of losing you as well. I know you're hurting and I know drinking to forget seems like the best option right now... but all you're doing is risking your health and glossing over your memories in favour of feeling nothing."

She stepped next to him and held his head to her chest. Through his drunken haze, he could feel her heartbeat.

"Diantha..." he mumbled.

"I'm here now," she said quietly, stroking his hair. "We'll order takeout then we can grieve for him together properly. We'll get through this together, okay?"

Pyroar stood in the doorway, looking somewhat suspicious of her. She held her hand out to him. "You're more than welcome to join us."

The beast padded over and sniffed her hand, then licked at it with approval and affection.

"We'll be our own dysfunctional little family," Augustine muttered, snuggling against Diantha's chest and petting at Pyroar's mane.

Diantha wanted to roll her eyes, but she found that she agreed with him.

**Author's Note:**

> 'The pyroar looked at him as if to say "this fucking douche-hole"'
> 
> 'The way this fic is going right now. Its kind of turning into a weird sitcom where augustine is reluctant roommates with a pyroar who think’s gus is an imbecilic shitprick.'
> 
> 'What do people call a bad thursday in Kalosian?  
> A tra _jeudi_ '


End file.
